


Body Shot

by tielan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:44:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan





	Body Shot

His hands are unsteady as he drips the mezcal into the hollow of Teyla's belly button. Her stomach convulses as she laughs, and a clear drop slides down her belly.

John leans down and draws his tongue up the glistening trail. Salt and the fiery taste of the mezcal tingle on his tastebuds, and fiery desire prickles in his groin.

 _Lick._

"You have done this before," she observes when he rises over the dusky curves of her belly.

"A few times," he admits as he bends down. "Hold still..."

He drags his lips from just above the waistline of her hip-high trousers, up to the belly button - a tiny lake of alcohol - and his mouth closes over the small hollow.

 _Sip._

Teyla makes a soft noise, inarticulate as his tongue slides into the crevices of her belly button.

John shivers, too.

The fire sliding down his throat is nothing to the need burning in his belly.

He wants to flip open the edge of that button-down shirt she's wearing, stream his tongue up the well-muscled flesh of her abdomen, and fasten on a dark-tipped breast.

 _Suck._

John wants.

He doesn't take.

Teyla does.

In a fluid movement, she sits up, and flips him onto his back. John begins a protest that dies as she straddles his thighs and bends down to bring her head to his as he props himself up on his elbows. "I am taking my turn now," she says.

John knows better than to hope he's about to get laid. His body doesn't. A steady pulse is already beating in his groin. "That seems fair." He almost manages to keep his voice even as she begins unbuttoning his shirt, baring hot skin to the cool ocean air pouring in the room. She knows what she's doing. She knows what she's doing to him.

He holds still as she slides her fingers down the edges of his shirt, fingertips tracing the edge of his skin, although his hard-on is beginning to ache. He quivers when she takes the bottle with it's golden liquid and the fat worm immersed in the alcohol and spills a little into his own belly-button.

He aches when Teyla plants her hands either side of his torso, and touches her lips to the side of his throat, the base, his breastbone, his abdomen...

"Teyla..." John manages to get out her name before she drinks, her lips curving in a secret smile as her tongue cleans out the crevices of his belly button.

He grabs her shirt and yanks her in.

Mouths meet, passionate and heated; one hand tears at the buttons of her shirt to reveal golden-brown skin. John flips them over so he has the leverage to taste her, to dip his tongue into the lace edge of the bra, to flick lightly across the swelling bud there.

Teyla hauls him up for a kiss, ferocious and uncompromising. "Harder," she whispers when they part, and he obeys.

Forgetfulness sweeps through him like a wave over a beach.

Moments blend and blur.

He remembers the moment Teyla has his erection in her hand - his fingers tangle in her bootlaces. He remembers the moment he slides his fingers under the waistband of her panties and eases them down her thighs to the intoxicating scent of her wetness. He remembers the moment he sweeps his tongue across her clit and the way she says his name - like she can't live without him.

John remembers the moment when he slides into her, slicked to the base of his balls and they move together, rising like eagles on the updraft, thrust and counterthrust. He keeps his mouth from her skin, from her lips, holding himself over her, fighting resentment as her eyes close.

"Teyla." He thrusts a little harder. "Look at me."

Her eyes lock on his face as her hands lock around his nape. Lips part and she smiles at him, warm and sexy and *here*, beneath him, pushing back against him as her nipples stroke his chest with every thrust.

John draws closer, intent on making her lose the control she's never without, trying to lose himself in her. Teyla arches, taut as a bow beneath him as she cries out. He grins and groans as he shoves into her again and watches her eyes close. Her fingers grip his neck, almost unbearable, but he can feel himself fraying at the edges.

He's drowning in her: mouth, arms, legs, body, scent, and the surety of her being, surrounding him, immersing him, intoxicating him like the worm in the bottle of mezcal.

And when John drags his mouth up and meets her eyes, he thinks he drowned her, too.


End file.
